Duality
by BookkeeperThe
Summary: He seemed nice. Friendly, polite, big smile.


**Notes: Set sometime between Waters of Mars and End of Time. Tell me what you think!**

**-DW-**

He seemed nice. That was Alisha's general impression of the skinny British guy at the counter. Friendly, polite, big smile.

He had a desperate sort of edge to him, but then, so did most who turned up at Ruby's Diner. It wasn't what you'd call a family joint, even if the only alcohol they served was beer.

He hadn't ordered beer. Probably would have had tea and scones or something if they had offered them (as it was he had just given a bright exclamation of "When in Rome!" and requested a coffee). He didn't exactly match up with the truckers and hitchhikers who were her usual customers, what with his sharp suit and his carefully careless hairstyle. Or rather, he shouldn't have – but for all his outward cheer, he gave off the same subtle signal that the rest of them did. Exhaustion. Loneliness.

He'd been on the road for too long.

"Here you go, honey," she said, sliding the steaming mug over to him.

He jumped, glancing up from the toy he was fiddling with. A Rubik's Cube, she thought it was called. He wasn't doing very well at solving it, but it didn't seem like his mind was on it. There were clouds in his eyes which couldn't have been put there by a toy, though they retreated somewhat when he smiled at her.

"Thanks," he said, and took a sip.

She laughed at the look on his face as he choked on the bitter liquid. Bright and genuine, the sound startled her. She hadn't heard a giggle like that from her own mouth in ages – not since her mom died. The smile which accompanied it felt unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, and she allowed it to remain in place as she pushed the sugar towards him.

"Thanks," he said again, this time somewhat sheepishly.

He was kind of sweet, she thought. Not bad to look at, either, if you liked the slim, pale type. Younger than most who came through here, only a few years older than her, if she hazarded a guess.

She glanced around the dingy room, deserted save for the two of them. She could afford to stop and chat for a while.

"You're a long way from home," she stated.

He faltered a little in bringing his cup to his mouth, his face doing an odd sort of spasm, but he recovered an instant later.

"Oh! Yes! The accent. Yeah, I'm just travelling. Seeing the sights, you know."

"Not much to see here," she said. Ruby's sat just off the wrong side of the wrong town in the middle of nowhere. "Nothing you'd want to see, anyhow."

"Oh, I don't know," he said, with a wide smile which made him look about twelve years younger. "There's you."

She laughed again, looser and longer than before. She was used to similar lines from her patrons, but from him, it almost seemed sincere.

"Hold that thought, sugar," she said, as the door creaked open to admit another customer. She turned away.

By the time she turned back, he was gone, a twenty dollar bill sitting beside his unsolved cube.

**-DW-**

Two in the morning, the end of her shift.

Actually, tonight it was two-fifteen in the morning, slightly after the end of her shift. The good-for-nothing cook had splashed grease water all over the floor and taken off, leaving her to clean up his mess.

Story of her life. She did the math in her head as she pulled on her jacket. Two-fifteen . . . it would take her thirty minutes at least to get home, now that she had missed her bus . . . she had to drive Damien to school at eight . . . she would be able to get a few hours sleep, at least. Provided that she didn't get a phone call from her brother or her ex or one of her friends about some other mess she had to mop up.

The door creaked.

She turned around with a sigh. This was one mess she really didn't want to deal with at the moment.

"We're closed, Frank."

"Aw, c'mon," said Frank, stumbling forward, his gnarled teeth bared in a leer. "What about for an old friend?"

"See some of my friends around, did you?" Alisha returned dryly.

Frank roared with laughter.

"You're a hard one, you are," he declared, throwing an arm around her shoulder. She wrinkled her nose as his alcohol-soaked breath washed over her. "Just a li'l something, Allie?" he coaxed, slurring his words. "I even got some cash tonight."

"You know I can't –"

The door creaked again.

Both Alisha and Frank looked up in surprise. For an instant the newcomer cut a sharp silhouette against the lights of the parking lot, and then the door swung shut behind him. Alisha could just make him out in the dim lighting: it was the skinny British man.

"Am I interrupting something?" he questioned. His teeth flashed in the same grin from earlier, but something about it – the way his eyes were cast in shadow, or the tension hidden in his casual stance – made it seem far less friendly than before.

"Hey," said Frank, pulling away from Alisha and moving towards the stranger, one finger pointing unsteadily in his general direction. "Who're you?"

"Just a traveler, passing through." He stepped forward, his smile dropping away completely. She hadn't noticed before just how dark his eyes were. "You were just letting this lovely lady be, weren't you?"

There was a threat behind the words which even Frank at his most inebriated couldn't miss. The old drunk stuttered something unintelligible and fled the diner, leaving Alisha alone with a strange man who was looking more dangerous by the second.

His posture slumped as Frank departed. She took a step back as he moved past her, the stench of cheap whiskey giving way to smoke and gunpowder and blood. On closer inspection she could see that his shirt was slightly singed, his cuffs and the crevices of his fingernails rusty red.

His own skin was unbroken as far as she could see. Though he moved wearily, he didn't seem to be injured. She shivered at the implications and took another step back, regretting that she had let him get between her and her purse, where she kept her pepper spray.

Even if she could reach it, she somehow doubted that it would do her much good.

"Forgot this," he said lightly, plucking up his cube from the counter. She had left it there, thinking that he might come back for it. Hoping, really, and she cursed her stupidity as he turned the toy over and over in his slender, bloodstained hands.

"Frank is harmless," she blurted out. "Even if he wasn't, I can hold my own." _Even against you,_ was what she meant to get across, but he didn't seem to hear it, maybe because she didn't believe it one whit. What sort of man – what sort of _thing_ could do something that left him smelling like a battlefield and covered in someone else's blood and then return to a diner for his Rubik's Cube, unhurt, his suit not even torn?

She was really beginning to regret not taking her friend's half-joking recommendation that she get a shotgun.

"Mm, I'm sure you can," the stranger said absently. He swept past her again, the scent of destruction trailing in his wake. "Goodnight, Alisha."

The door creaked shut behind him.

It was only the next morning, struggling to get Damien into his coat and wondering if it had all been a dream, that she realized she had never asked for his name.


End file.
